Friendship

I wrote this poem at a time when I was rich with hope, tempered with caution, but still, rich with hope. It's not easy to place yourself in the hands of another, and sometimes you learn and grow from your worse fear.

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I know I speak in double talk sometimes. i do that because it's a failed relationship I can't find the right words for. But at the time I wrote this, I was rich with hope...

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Friendship
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I’d like to be funny tonight.
Sit in my favorite chair,
Across from you, grinning,
And tell you stories
That start with glee and end with awesome.

I’d like to lean over and
Touch your knee
So you know I am present
As surely as I sit before you.

I’d like to know how you feel
On vacation and at work
And on Sunday mornings
When you read the New York Times.

I’d like to watch your mind
Dance down the street of curiosity
And stop at the curb
Where that lucky penny finds you.

I’ll listen to your stories
Into the night,
Even of the time you eloped
Only to find your mistake
Under the Las Vegas sheets

My eyes will follow you
Into the doorways and along the pathways
And I will nod with empathy
And the commonality of approval.

I can do all these things
As sincerely as I breathe
Because I was given this gift
Long long ago.

I’d like you to know
I keep secrets and honor wishes,
Even the dark ones,
And even when I’m bribed.

So when you slip on your coat
to take your leave
I’d like to think
We both heard you well.

And because there are two of us,
Listening requires
The unveiling of
my own footprints in the squeaky sand.

Tell you who I am? That is harder.
I can tell you why.
Maybe
It starts with a fact that startles me still:

I can tell you everything
But I will not know
if you see me strong and clear
Or dazed and fragile.


I’ve been apologizing for both and either
Most of my life
And that is a confused place
Not found on any map.

Here’s how it goes:
If you tell me I am strong and confident
I will tell you back--
No, please know I am sensitive,
I cry and fold in two
When I have no back door

And if you tell me I am sensitive
I will be speechless,
Apologizing for a weak defense
And readying to watch you walk away.

It’s not that I don’t know myself:
I cry over love
And when dogs whimper,
And nobody would say I was unkind.

I take to the streets
When integrity’s at stake
And I hide under the bed
When I bite my lower lip
In anticipation of a harsh word or deed.

I am confident and sensitive.
Strong and insecure.
Wise and weak.
Tiny and tall.
That’s what it is.
And yet
I cannot tell you why this fact
Decks me until I finally

Relax for the count
Or rise for the occasion.

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